


broken lamps (at 3AM)

by Idjit_01



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Compliant, Castiel Makes a Deal with The Shadow (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has Anger Issues, M/M, Swearing, The Empty (Supernatural), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idjit_01/pseuds/Idjit_01
Summary: The time Dean can't sleep and as a product of it he starts thinking. He's mad at Cas for taking the deal with the Empty. So he drinks and ends up calling him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	broken lamps (at 3AM)

It's 3am.

The light from the ceiling's lamp keeps flickering in the crappy motel room.

The sheets are undone. It looks like a fight took place on them.

The bedside lamp is shattered, a few drops of blood dripping steadily from the glass.

The only noise in there besides the cars running down the highway are unrelenting steps throughout the room.

Dean's been pacing for hours.

First he tried to sleep, but everytime he closed his eyes he felt this uneasiness nagging him from the back of his mind. He _almost_ misses Michael. At least then his insomnia wasn't a product of _nothingness_. At least he had a reason to be alert.

When his bare feet crunch the glass on the floor for what must be like the thousand time, which is probably why the floor is crimson where he's been pacing at, he gives up.

This isn't working. This isn't helping. 

Well, time for the ultimate Winchester all-time coping mechanism.

He's going to get drunk. Fuck Sam and his health concerns. He's desperate. He _needs_ to get his four hours if he wants to be productive in their search to destroy the Empty or, at least, make it leave them the fuck alone.

Which, fuck Cas. If he hadn't made that deal or at least waited until the last possible second to tell them they wouldn't be in this situation. Fuck Cas and his fucking intense blue eyes that make him care enough for it to fucking hurt when he's unhappy. Fuck him for not being able to be happy without dying.

Dean still wants to break stuff. He wants to hit the mirror and the windows and break everything, but he's bleeding already and he doesn't want to get dizzy due to blood loss. Which, yeah, would make his sleep, but would make him weaker and more useless, if that's possible, for about a week and he can't waste that much time.

Dean takes the motel room keys —because yes, there's only an ancient motel with _keys_ instead of cards where the fruitless leads —fucking dead ends— had taking him. 

He stomps down the hall —fuck the rest of the people in the motel and fuck their fucking _sleep_. 

When he leaves the motel, he's freezing. Now he's even madder. Why, oh _why_? Fucking northern weather.

He walks as quickly as he can —but, oh, oh no, he doesn't run— until he gets into the gas station. He'd rather go to a diner, but they're all closed by now, and there aren't any bars at walking distance.

The warmth that welcomes him when he steps in fucking stings. He takes a moment to adjust. Then he takes long strides until he can read the bottle labels. He looks for the cheapest highest percent alcohol he can find and takes one, no, two, no, better three, _just in case_ bottles.

He takes a pear pie —fucking worst flavor of pie there is— because it's the only flavor left and look quickly through the magazines at the front desk —and if he lingers a bit longer on the gay magazine where the cover's guy looks like fucking Cas that's for no one to know— and pays the bored as hell teenager who's smoking indoors even though that's not allowed —but, hell, he's in no position to judge.

The cold outside takes him as much by surprise at the first time. He worries briefly whether it's going to snow —that would be hell for his Baby when he keeps driving tomorrow to get back to the Bunker.

He stumbles at his room's door and almost considers taking it down when the keys _won't fucking cooperate_.

He throws himself onto his bed when the door _finally_ opens. It doesn't make it better. 

He takes the pie and the bottles out. 

The whiskey —if it could be called that— burns. He relishes it. 

He gags when he tries the pie. It's worse than it should be allowed. It's just not edible. It won't even go down with whiskey. 

He throws it away and misses —part of the window and the floor are now covered with pie goo, not a morsel in the bin. 

Dean drinks and drinks and drinks and the pleasant buzz takes over but he _still_ can't fucking sleep. So he keeps drinking and drinking and drinking.

He must black out a few seconds or something. 

One second he's drinking and coursing the pie and the gas station and the weather and his brain for not being able to sleep and the next he's covered in vomit and blood and his eyes are watering.

Dean's so frustrates. Because he's so drunk he's thrown up all over himself and he still. Can't. Sleep.

He looks at the time. He groans. It's not even over 4a.m. yet.

So. He doesn't know if it's the drinks or the sleep deprivation or temporary insanity. But. Suddenly his thoughts are drifting to Cas and his stare and his plush lips and his longs hands and his freaking angel powers and now he's fucking horny.

He's contemplating doing something about it when he feels the air changing around him. Everything's spinning.

And then pressure and warmth on his shoulder ground him.

"Hello, Dean." A gravely voice says behind him.

"Heya, Cas." Dean answers, smiling sheepishly and turning to look Cas in the eyes. He can't tell what Cas's thinking. His expressions guarded.

Cas tilts his head and isn't that fucking adorable.

"Are you okay?" Cas asks.

Dean blinks. And laughs. Because he's so not okay but he can't say that. 

He can still feel Cas's hand on his shoulder and when he notices, he feels all the anger coming back again. He hates that Cas is so determined to leaving. Or being unhappy. Or just making Dean fucking miserable. As if he doesn't _know_. 

He shrugs Cas's hand off and barely holds himself from punching him. He needs Cas... For something. What was he trying to do? 

Ah, yeah.

"Cas." He stars. Cas's staring at him, and doesn't he look kinda hurt? But Dean hasn't done anything wrong. He's the one who's mad. Cas's the one who fucked up. 

Okay.

Focus.

He sees Cas opening his mouth, but talks before anything comes out. 

"I need you to make me sleep."

Cas tilts his head further, but doesn't move otherwise.

Dean's growing more irritated by the second.

He takes Cas by the sides of his trenchcoat roughly and growls. "Did you hear me? Turn me fucking unconscious. Use your fucking angel mojo and make me sleep."

When Cas's brow rises, Dean knows he's fucked up. He's mad, but he can't use that. He isn't going to get anything that way. Hell, he's lucky Cas hasn't flown away again. 

He releases Cas and turns around, closing his eyes.

When he feels he has a better grip on himself he turns and looks Cas pleadingly in the eyes. " _Please_ ". He whines. And where the fuck did _that_ come from?

Cas looks at him for what feels like forever. Dean's feeling nauseous again. Just when he feels bile rising in his throat again —which is honestly just acidic bile, as there's anything else in his stomach anymore— Cas walks towards him again and touches him, taking the nausea again and tilting Dean's head towards him so he's looking at him in the eyes.

Dean's hoping he'll either kiss him or make him fucking sleep at last.

"No." Says Cas instead. His eyes are hard. His voice just sounds fucking done with him.

Dean fears Cas's gonna take off again. 

He tries to tug his body away from Cas, but it doesn't work.

In a second Cas strong arms are surrounding him and the next he's in bed, Cas's warmth lingering around him.

Dean yawns and closes his eyes. The uneasiness in the back of his head is leaving him alone for now.

When Dean wakes up, he's alone. The bedside lamp is on his side, on the bedside table. It doesn't smell like vomit or blood or pie. 

The room's clean.

He can't deny what happened, though. Everything's clean, but he's got a splitting headache and he can still smell Cas on him.

He curses Cas's name. Leaving him _again_ like this. It hurts. Cas keeps leaving him and he's even made sure the Empty wil take him when he's too happy to leave on his own for one last time.

His eyes water. He punches the bedside lamp again. Shreds of glass and blood cover the floor and the sheets. 

Fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> So. I've had this idea for a while about Dean asking Cas to help his sleep with his mojo. 
> 
> I hope it doesn't disappoint. It may have gotten a bit out of hand.
> 
> I also really wanted to portray Dean with anger issues, because, come on, that's as canon as Cas's and Dean's profound bond.
> 
> Please let me know what you think~


End file.
